


Scalpturio Dens Et Clavus

by namelessghostwriter



Category: Ghost (Swedish Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, BDSM, Brainwashing, Corporal Punishment, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kidnapping, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sadism, Satanism, Slow Burn, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-12 21:54:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5682190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/namelessghostwriter/pseuds/namelessghostwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where Papa Emeritus III rules supreme and his Nameless Ghouls are his loyal soldiers it's time for him to claim a new recruit, the last puzzle piece to his clergy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. River

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not entirely sure of the direction this is going to take in later chapters (God, this is so much more of a slow burn than I thought it'd be) but it's safe to say that there's going to be some non-con or dub-con at best, so if you're not comfortable with that I don't recommend you reading this.  
> Descriptions of the physical appearance of the ghouls will be made from my imagination, any similarities to the real men behind the masks will be purely coincidental and unintentional.  
> There will be no OC/Ghoul or OC/Papa which seems to be what most Ghost fics are centered around. This will be Ghoul/Ghoul and Papa/Ghoul.
> 
> This is the first fic I've ever written and English is a second language so please be patient with me.

_Metallic horned masks that make them appear more like statues than men, soulless gargoyles without mouths. Beautiful and terrifying at the same time._

_They wear attire that appears to be a mix between a gentleman's suit tailored to perfection, complete with clean, white spats, and the clerical clothing priests wear. Most people who have the rare pleasure of encountering the ghouls don't have time to ponder their appearances or even say a last, desperate prayer before they're on the floor in a river of their own blood._

River. A nickname that was given to him when he was seven years old and fell into a river whilst on a field-trip. At first it was used to tease him, every day in the cafeteria he'd get a 'be careful not to drown in that water, _River'_ whilst he was drinking or an equally unfunny remark about being afraid of water if he chose to drink milk instead.

Somehow the name stuck around for this long and now it's used in a much more affectionate way, even by people who didn't know him back when it happened. At this point he's just grateful that they didn't decide to call him something worse. God knows they could have, kids that age are ruthless. He's even caught himself introducing himself as River even though he used to tell his friends that he hates it when they do that.

Right now, soaked to the bone by the pouring rain, it feels every bit like that day ten years ago when he was fished out from the river by his classmates. They’re all gathered outside in a perfect straight line just like they had practiced doing during fire drills. They were ushered outside by their nervously shrieking English teacher Mrs. Andersson and not the fire alarm whilst the younger children watched with big eyes and open mouths.

Hushed, excited speculations about what on earth the teachers were up to this time could be heard even though they were told to stay quiet. Others shuffled forward slowly in the line, complaining about having to go outside during a rainstorm.

Until someone mentioned Papa Emeritus III. As a jest most likely, but as soon as the name was uttered it was as if a spell fell upon all of them. The panic was instantaneous and their educators turned into peacekeepers just as fast, barking out orders for them to stay in the line, hoisting up the students whose legs seemed to have stopped working.

They step outside the school's main entrance and the cold rain hits them like a thousand needles, there was no time to get their jackets so the icy drops rolls down the nape of their necks to their backs. Alphabetical order, lockstep, they all find their assigned place with practiced precision. The screaming and crying has stopped, but somehow the silence is more unnerving.

Parents used to all but throw their children at Papa Emeritus and his Ghouls, hoping that they could have a life that was at least slightly better than their own. Hoping for no more than a prestigious title and three warm meals a day. Or maybe just one less mouth to feed. Even if it meant that they would never see them again.

But that was before the reign of Papa Emeritus the second, before all of the atrocities his Nameless Ghouls committed in his name came to light. They say that Papa Emeritus the third is even worse, more of a tyrant and a sadist. A beast dressed as a gentleman, River's father used to say. The chance of their offspring being one of Papa Emeritus' chosen few turned from a blessing to an awful curse.

River and his friends used to play _Ghouls and kids._ They made their own masks with plaster, painted them black and wore them whilst chasing their friends who got to play the kids. If you got caught you had the choice of dying or becoming a Ghoul. Naturally, they all chose to become Ghouls. When the teachers caught on they were forbidden from playing the game at school. They couldn't understand why, as no reason was given to them, so they continued in secret, pretending that the teachers were sisters of sin trying to report them to Papa. River hasn't thought about the game for years. They grew tired of it eventually and stopped playing it, never to mention it again. His room still has black spots from where their small fingers, sticky with thick paint had graced outside the edges of their Ghoul masks. His mother was _furious_ when she noticed. No amount of elbow grease and lemon pledge could remove the stains. The stains are still there even though he lost the mask ages ago.

Today he remembers and understands why they were banned from playing it. Ironically, the same people who forbade them from playing it then are now the people forcing them to experience the real thing. River supposes that he should feel some kind of hatred towards them but he can't find it in his heart. He's heard the stories of what happens to adults who refuse to cooperate. They're seen as traitors of the state that cannot be trusted and therefore must be dealt with. They're removed from the school immediately and are never seen again. One can guess what their fate is. A quick death is probably the best they can hope for once the Nameless Ghouls gets a hold of them. The kids get taken away no matter if they assist or not so why would they put their lives on the line?

When the two black Rolls Royce Phantoms roll up to the field they know for certain. They all know.

Most of the students are looking down at their feet, their shoulders tense and arms wrapped around themselves, desperately trying to appear smaller. Clinging to some small hope that it makes the chance of them being chosen smaller as well. Some of them are crying but by now the sobs have turned into the soft hiccups that come when sobbing is too painful.

The teachers are standing under black umbrellas, staring at everything but the limousine and the students standing in a neat line. Even though they're shielded from the rain they all have the same droopy, pale expression River imagines one gets after almost drowning.

The headmistress must have waited outside of the limousines for 10 minutes before the doors open and Nameless Ghouls with glistening metallic horned masks step outside. Three of them step out of the first car and one from the second, carrying an umbrella, but it's obvious that it isn't for himself, as he hasn't opened it yet. He lets the rain drench him just like the other Ghouls.

River is captivated by how smoothly they move, like every shift of limbs is carefully calculated so there is no superfluous movement at all. They carry their heads high and shoulders back in a dignified, proud way River has never seen in any adult in this small town do. Everyone around here walks around with their heads down low and eventually with backs crooked by time and arduous labor. It gives them an air of honesty and hard work, like they would work all of their limbs to the bone without a single complaint even though they can barely feed themselves.

The Ghouls look _dangerous,_ the complete polar opposite of the simple and unassuming people River is used to. Like they could slit your throat and gut you without flinching at the blood splattering into their eyes. The masks don't even play into it, they could be wearing paper bags on their heads and still appear just as menacing. Four of them are here and River squints, trying to make out who's who. They have stitched markings on their lapels, but it's too far away to make any sense of.

River's eyes wander over all the Ghouls, lingering on one that's standing a few feet from the others, hands locked behind his back and head tilted up towards the sky. Right when River decides it's about time to avert his gaze the Ghoul turns around and they make eye contact, sending shivers down River's spine. It's as if a gun is pointed at him, not a cold gaze. Normally when River makes eye contact with someone he likes to see how long he can hold it until they look away in discomfort. He's made a game of it and he always wins.

This time he's the first to look away after what was probably seconds but felt like minutes. When he turns towards the limousine the final door has opened and out saunters the one and only Papa Emeritus III. The headmistress all but falls to her knees only to be ignored by Papa who waves his hand and mutters something. He's young, or at least younger than River imagined. He's seen pictures of the first Papa who almost looked like he was melting and he's seen pictures of the second Papa, who while appearing younger than his predecessor, still looked every bit his age.

Papa is wearing sunglasses, and his outfit, that resembles something a 16th century king would wear on his day off makes them seem even more out of place than the clouds and rain. The Ghoul that River locked eyes with walks up to Papa, tilts his head and says something to which Papa nods, and the Ghoul backs away to stand alongside his brothers again. As Papa begins to move across the field the headmistress scrabbles to her feet trying to keep up. The Ghoul with the umbrella walks next to Papa, shielding him from the rain while letting himself get soaked. River can tell who the Ghouls learned their mannerisms from.

After looking up and down the row of children a few times he begins pointing them out like lambs to the slaughter. The ones who are selected get directed to go inside again by the less than gentle hands of everyone around them. They're all slow and shaking, walking like their destination is the electric chair. It's a miracle that their legs even carry them.

River counts them silently, but after five he's hit with a wave of nausea and dizziness like nothing he's ever felt before. His vision blurs and the only thing he can hear is his pulse thudding like a hammer in his ears. He's brought back to reality by someone shaking him violently, it sounds like their voice is coming from under water until they grasp his face and look into his eyes.

"River? _Rive_ -" It's Mrs. Andersson, his English teacher. "Oh, that you respond to but not your real name?" She says, smiling sentimentally. He's known her almost as long as he's had the stupid nickname.

He mutters a sorry, shaking his head to try and clear the fog. He twists around, shies away from her touch and tries to see what's going on behind Mrs. Andersson but she stops him, grabbing his upper arms.

"You need to go inside _now._ You got selected."

River opens his mouth, but nothing comes out so he closes it again. Breathing seems just as impossible as speaking, his lungs protesting like they're filled with sand. He hesitates, shifting his weight from feet to feet.

"Now," She hisses, sounding on the verge of manic. "Before the Ghouls decide to assist you."

River nods, attempts to swallow the lump in his throat and steps out of the line to begin the same walk the students before him made.

He's the last one to enter the room outside of the headmistress' office where he's given a towel and is then promply pushed to sit down on the only uncomfortable, small chair that isn't taken yet. The door closes behind him and a Ghoul with brown eyes stands in front of it, arms crossed. His mere presence is enough to dissuade anyone who considered making a run for it.

Shaking his leg frantically and humming as loud as he can in his head he tries to ignore the sound of the girl to the left of him vomiting into a plastic bag and the boy to the right of him making choking noises.

He refrains from counting how many of them there are in there, doesn't want to know the odds. But he can't help looking at them when they pass him to enter the office. William, who tackled him so hard into a wall in gym that he got a concussion a few years ago. Johan, who was one of his friends that pulled him out of the river. Felicia, who has the best grade in his math class. One or two faces he can't place.

And then it's his turn. Before he can open the door he's stopped by the Ghoul who previously blocked the exit.

"Listen," He says, grabbing River by the arm, making him flinch at the contact."You'll address him by his proper title. Answer all of his question sincerely, he'll know if you lie." He says with an accent River can't place. For a few seconds River just stares at him, so startled by the fact that a Nameless Ghoul touched him that he has no idea what to do. Luckily the Ghoul makes the decision for him, ushering him into the office. The moment he sets his foot down over the threshold a strange sense of calm courses through him, like the panic got to a level his body can't even process so it decided to shut all the systems down. The door slams shut behind him.

The room has been stripped of all furniture except a bookshelf and an old armchair. In the middle stands Papa, still wearing his sunglasses. River doesn't know if it's good or bad that he can't look into his eyes. Doesn't know if he would have the courage to.

Papa looks River from head to toe without a hint of subtlety. He doesn't need to see his eyes to know that he was just thoroughly examined.

"Have a seat," he commands, his accent sounding like a strange mix of Italian and Transylvanian. River obeys, feeling even smaller now, tilting his head up to look at Papa. "So tell me, child," Papa says slowly, motioning with his right hand. "Do you believe in God?"

River doesn't know what he expected, but it wasn't that.

He begins to think about what Papa would want him to answer, what the other kids probably answered, what answer would make sure that Papa won't want to steal him away--

Then he remembers what the Ghoul told him.

"No," he blurts out before he can stop himself. Papa's face remains neutral, not giving River a clue of whether he did good or not.

"You might want to... Take a bit more time to consider your next answer," Papa remarks and River can feel the tips of his ears turn red. He swears there was a hint of playfulness in the older man's voice. "Do you believe in the Devil?"

River does as he's told again and takes his time. He looks out the small window to his right that's overlooking the field. The children are all sitting down now, huddled in a circle. The teachers are comforting them, trying to shield as many as they can from the rain. Comforting the children who weren't chosen. Who aren't being scrutinized by Papa Emeritus III. A devastating sense of injustice and helplessness courses through River.

Two more limousines have arrived, one white and another black one. He imagines that the sisters of sin are waiting in the white one. None of this feels real. His body feels soft and numb like in a dream, like he could sink through the chair and wake up in his own bed.

Would it be so terrible if Papa ended up choosing him? What does he have here anyway? The cold empty space his mother left behind and a father who ignores him on his best days and uses him as a punching bag on his worst.

"Does he believe in me?" He answers, still looking out the window, fear and adrenaline making him reckless instead of careful.

The corners of Papa's mouth twitch.

_"Why him? We have smart boys - obedient boys - who will listen to you-- Yes, of course. I did not mean to be insubordinate. Him and the two girls, then."_

 

 


	2. Omega

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blood and violence in this chapter! If that's too much for you then please don't read. Comments would be very much appreciated!

The Ghoul stands over him, warm hands grabbing his wrists to put on leather handcuffs, tightening them just enough to cut off his circulation. River allows it. Black spots swim in his vision, a nice addition to the rest of the room that appears to be swimming too.

The Nameless Ghoul grabs River none too gently by the arm and pulls him up from the chair like a rag-doll, letting go only to grab him again when his knees buckle seconds later. He's hyperventilating now and his chest contracts painfully on every short breath. Everything is silent. Too fucking silent, all he can hear is his own body losing it.

"You're alright. Nice, deep breaths," The Ghoul says, his tone almost sympathetic. A hand cards through his hair and then presses his head against the Ghoul's chest. His other hand grabs Rivers neck, grounding him and controlling him at the same time.

River's so close that he can hear his heartbeat that must be a hundred times slower than his own. "Can you feel me breathing? Focus on that." 

It's the hardest thing River's ever done, following the slow rise and fall of the bigger man's rib cage. The Ghoul seizes the opportunity while River's distracted and attaches another chain to the middle of the chain that connects River's cuffs, wrapping the other end of it tightly around his own right hand.

"That's it, you've got it."

The situation is ridiculous. He's being comforted by a fucking Nameless Ghoul. A ruthless killing machine employed by Papa Emeritus III, their pope and leader. That realization alone is enough to calm down Rivers breathing. And just like that the moment is gone and the Ghoul he's heard so many stories about is back. The grip on his head and neck is released.

"We're just going to take a nice, slow walk to the cars," The Ghoul says, leaning down to whisper in his ear, "I'll cuff your ankles too if I have to." The sentence is definitely a threat, but the Ghoul sounds so casual when he says it that it doesn't even unsettle River.

"Oh, I wouldn't want to inconvenience you like that," River answers, hoping to sound as relaxed as the Ghoul but the words out weak and unsteady.

"You and I are going to get along just fine then," The Ghoul approves and begins to walk, River in tow, leashed like a dog. It's not raining anymore when they step outside but the dark clouds remain. River inhales the fresh air, filling his lungs to a painful degree before exhaling. That and not falling over is all he can do at the moment.

He can see the girls that were selected to become sisters of sin now. They're standing by the white limousine, one with her head bowed, the other one clutching a sister of sin like she's the only thing keeping her alive and upright. He recognizes both of them immediately. Both of the girls took English with River, Sanna with her short, curly brown hair and Lydia, with long, angelic blonde hair. God, seeing Lydia standing there was like a gut punch. 

Two years ago his father had come home reeking like cheap beer and stale tobacco for the third time that week, only that night he’d been drunk enough to leave bruises where clothes couldn’t cover. Most of the people at school had the decency to avert their gazes once he caught them staring at his black eye and split lip.

But not Lydia. She met his eyes with a shy smile and kept looking at him for the rest of their class. He decided to confront her by the lockers but before he launch into the angry rant he'd thought out word for word she pulled down sleeve of her shirt to reveal a blossoming bruises that wrapped around heir entire upper arm.

They didn't spend much time together at school, both had their own group of friends and there wasn't much overlap between them. After school, when everyone else had gone home to their families, that's when River and Lydia found one another.

They didn’t talk about their parents, didn’t talk about hands that slapped and punched instead of comforted and stroked. But they made a deal, that if it ever got bad - really, really bad - they they would run away together. No questions asked.

He kept a packed bag under his bed just in case Lydia would show up at on his doorstep and tell him that it’s time.

Seeing her standing there made River feel strangely conflicted- devastated that she got chosen but selfishly relieved knowing that he might see her again after his new life starts.

Lydia stands there in silence whilst a sister of sin consoles Sanna, wiping away tears from her cheeks with her thumbs. The sister places a gentle kiss on her forehead and Sanna smiles gratefully, allows herself to be directed into the white car.

"No! Not my daughter! God, please--"

River starts and stumbles at the sudden scream, only a few meters away from the limousines now. Everyone turns towards the sound.

Sanna. Sanna Nyqwist, that's her name. Of course. Her father is a history teacher at the school. Or is, currently, screaming like a madman while running towards Papa Emeritus III and entourage. A last desperate act to save his child who seems to have already come to terms with her fate. He slips in the mud that the rain created and struggles to rise again. As if he didn't appear pitiful enough already.

"Earth," Papa commands without bothering to turn around to look at the man. He waves a disinterested hand, annoyed that he even has to say the words. "Take care of it."

Earth bows lazily, not committing to the movement completely. A forced act rather than one of pure devotion. Moving without effort, as if he's just following the wind he catches Mr. Nyqwist from behind before he can reach the car, careful not to soil his own clothing with mud. He twists the teacher around so that he's facing the field with children and not the limousines. A rapid sweep with a knife against the man's throat and just like that it's over.

A choking, gurgling noise can be heard as blood sprays and then he's laying face-down in the mud. River lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding as several hysterical screams echo in the cold air. Earth bends down, wipes the blood on his knife on Mr. Nyqwists shirt as if the warm, red liquid disgusts him but not enough for him to discard the knife altogether.

"So," Earth spins the knife in his palm, twisting the handle between his fingers. "Shall we?" he asks tilting his head, looking for Papa's approval.

"Yes," Papa casts a glance at the corpse and his lips curl in disgust.  "We're done here."

That's all the confirmation the Ghoul chained to River needs before shoving him into the limousine with unnecessary force. He might as well be moving a rag-doll at this point. The Ghoul takes his seat next to him, chain still tightly wrapped around his hand and the door slams shut next to him. 

It's the nicest car he's ever seen, never mind been inside of. He can smell the leather seats and there's a black privacy screen in between the back seat and front seat so River can't make out who's driving. If he'd been here under another circumstance he'd probably be excited.

They spend the next few minutes in silence, the Ghoul resting his masked cheek on his hand and looking out the window. The longer the silence draws on the louder the noise in River's head gets, the sound of throats being cut and blood spraying and-- He needs a distraction, even if it means frightening act of speaking to a Nameless Ghoul.

"He - the Ghoul that," River takes a deep breath, shakes his head to try to remove the images of Mr. Nyqwist bleeding out on the ground in front of a hundred kids. "Papa called the Ghoul 'Earth'."

"Mm," The Ghoul hums in a disinterested fashion and continues to stare out the window.

"What does he call you?" River pries, not even sure why he's asking anymore.

"He calls me Air." The Ghoul answers, turning his head around and meeting River's eyes. He's all out of things to ask and he loses the Ghoul's attention just as quickly as he got it. They fall back into silence, both looking out the tinted windows to watch the landscape rush by.

"We're here," Air notes suddenly, and that's the last thing River hears before an elbow is rammed into his head and everything explodes into black.  
\-----~~~~-----  
He wakes up with a skull-splitting headache that makes it hard to focus on anything except for the pain. He's in a bed in an unfamiliar room.

“Where- What…?” River asks, his voice rough from not being used. His mouth feels like sandpaper. On the edge of the bed sits a sister of sin in full nun regalia, folding clothes. She's pretty. Full lips with a plum lipstick, big green tinted hazel eyes and high cheekbones. She doesn't look older than 20 but River grew up listening to rumors about how servants of the Papas don't age at all so her real age could be anyone's guess. He clears his throat and tries to speak again. “How did I get here? Where am I?”

“You’re in castle Bathorii. This is the room where you will be staying from now on.” She replies calmly, getting up to put away the clothes in the wardrobe.

As River struggles to sit up he notices his own lack of clothing. He's been stripped to his underwear. Come to think about it, he's not even wearing his own underwear anymore. "Did you... Did you undress me?"

"No. The Nameless Ghouls did."

River doesn't know if he's relieved to hear that or not. "Oh."

"They are your brothers now. You have no secrets."

Brothers. The Nameless Ghouls. The words alone should make River's head spin but instead he just feels a cold emptiness on the inside that grows by the second. He's freezing.

She walks over to the desk and brings a small silver tray back with her with a few cups on it. "Does your head hurt?"

"Yes."

"Drink this," She tells him, handing him a small cup with a blue, thick liquid inside.

He has no reason not to trust her. Has no reason to trust her either, really. But why would they poison him after going into all this trouble just to transport him here? If they wanted him dead he would have been dead a long time ago, laying in the mud with the other corpse. With that thought in his head he slams back the surprisingly tasteless, slimy fluid.

It isn't unpleasant but it certainly isn't pleasant either.

“I took some measurements while you were out. I hope you don’t mind." Does he mind? Not really, what little dignity he he once had has left his body already. "These should fit you perfectly," She motions to a pile of neatly folded clothes on the armchair next to River's bed "But if they don’t we will make adjustments tomorrow. You’re expected to clean yourself thoroughly in the shower" She glances at his hair, “Comb your hair. And then get dressed in the clothes laid out for you. The Ghouls will collect you when it’s time for the ritual.”

River pulls up the duvet to cover his chest a bit more. “What happens if I refuse?” He asks, half joking, half serious.

“I’m not entirely sure as it has not happened before,” She hesitates, scrunching her nose “But I imagine the Ghouls would undress you again and then hose you down in the shower before dragging to to the ritual. They wouldn’t be gentle. You need to pick your battles. It will certainly save you a lot of pain and humiliation."

"How do I know how to pick my battles?" He regrets the question right after it leaves his mouth, knowing how stupid and naïve it probably made him sound.

  
"Ask yourself if you're going to change the end result by being dragged kicking and screaming instead of walking on your own volition." She answers, sounding even more monotonous than before. She's by the door, tray in hand before River can think of anything to say to that. "Go prepare yourself now." She orders before the heavy door falls shut behind her. He's grateful that she isn't going to babysit him but still loathes being told what to do.

He shuffles out of bed, plants his feet on the dark, soft crimson carpet that covers the floor after hesitating for a few seconds. Now that his headache has subsided significantly and the sister of sin has left he can inspect the room more closely.

There are no windows in the room, the only light source is the chandelier hanging from the ceiling and the yellow light from the candles strewn about the place. The room is spacious but not cluttered by furniture or decorations. Impersonal. Several oak bookshelves covers the entirety of one of the walls, filled to the brim with old, leather bound books.

River has never seen that many books in one room before, especially ones as beautifully handcrafted as these. River can barely resist the urge to stroke his fingers along the backs of them.  
There are two doors and after gathering all the courage he has he tries the handle on the one of them that the sister of sin left through only to find that it's locked, which is probably a good thing. He won't get any stupid ideas of escaping that way. Behind the second, unlocked door is a small bathroom. The stone grey stone castle walls are a stark contrast to the much more modern sink, bathtub and shower.

He turns on the shower, fiddles around with the many knobs for a while before getting the water to a temperature that isn’t ice cold or boiling. On a marble shelf on the wall are glass containers with unmarked beauty products and soaps. On the side of them there is a big containing a sweet smelling oil that River can’t even imagine what to do with.

River ends up settling for just using the lye soap liberally all over his body and another soap bar that smells like vanilla on his hair. He tries not to think about how he's washing away the last traces of his past life. Taking extra time to make sure to rinse it all out of his hair before turning all the knobs again and stepping out of the bathtub.

He grabs one big, fluffy towel from the rack and pats himself dry, feeling unbearably cold now, much cold than before he got into the shower.  
He combs his hair like he was instructed to, towel hanging low on his hipbones but it’s close to pointless since it's going to be a wild mess again anyway when it’s dry. He avoids looking at himself in the mirror. He won't like what he'll see, hasn't in years. He doesn't need to look at himself to know that he has dull, blue eyes, untamed dark hair and a jawline just like his father.

The clothes that were laid out for him are from what River can remember identical to the clothes of the Nameless Ghouls he saw earlier this day. All black, tailored to perfection with a few eye catching symbols sown into the fabric. The only difference is that he has not been given a mask or something that covers his throat. There's no need to adjust the clothes, the sister of sin had been very good at making sure that this clothes fit River just right all over his body. Even the shoes and the white spats that go with them. The clothing don't do anything to help with how cold he is despite how covered up he is now.

Now left with nothing to do except wait a sudden compulsion hits him, and before he can stop himself he's at the locked door again - only it's not locked anymore. When he tries the handle the door opens with a click, revealing all four Nameless Ghouls just on the other side of the threshold. Without saying a word they step aside to allow River to take his first steps outside his room. Then he starts to walk, not paying much attention to his surroundings at all. His headache subsided a long time ago but it's hard to concentrate on anything besides the ice spreading inside of him and that he wants to, needs to go somewhere.

The Ghouls don't lead him or tell him where to go. They don't need to. He knows the way already, his feet seem to move on their own as if they have walked this path a hundred times before. The Ghouls follow close behind in silence, if River stopped suddenly at least one of them would bump into his back. It doesn't feel threatening, as long as he behaves they're here to protect and not to hurt. He won't misbehave, has no desire to even though he's spend his entire life testing boundaries and doing the opposite of what he's told.

He walks like he's following a silent siren song, helpless but to go where it wants him to even if it leads to his death. He passes countless doors in a long hallway, getting increasingly frustrated when he can't seem find the right door until disembodied voices fill his head and he knows he's finally there. Where he was always meant to end up. Papa is there, standing behind a church pulpit, wearing his traditional black pallium and chasuble, golden and white Mitre on his head. River averts his gaze submissively. He's even more intimidating now and River is not worthy.

Two sisters of sin are standing in the middle of a room lit up by black candles on the floor, one of them holding a chalice and the other a tray with a single hostia. The sister he met earlier is not one of them. Red wax has been dripped on the floor in the shape of a pentagram that River steps over to stand in the middle. The ghouls take their place in a small circle around River, only a few meters away from him as the sisters approach him and place the hostia wafer on his tongue after he willingly opens his mouth. The chalice is lifted to his mouth and something tasting like an odd mix of blood and hard alcohol fill his mouth. His throat rebels and he has to force himself to swallow the coppery, burning liquid.

The disembodied voices get louder, chanting in a language River has never heard before. River holds out his left hand and Air, now by his side grabs it to hold it steady as he slides a knife horizontally across River's palm. The blood is comforting in a strange way, the heat and pain a welcome distraction from the chill inside of River. Then he slices an equally deep cut into his own thumb and presses it against River's open, bleeding wound. Air passes the knife and all the other Ghouls do the same before stepping back.

The voices stop abruptly when Papa moves from the pulpit, walking like he has all the time in the world. And he does, everything stops for him. He has his own knife, doesn't share with his Ghouls. It's impossible to avoid eye contact now that Papa is standing right in front of him and he gets his first good look at the mismatching deep green eye and white eye. Papa is smiling and it's the most beautiful thing River has ever seen. He's spellbound, doesn't even notice Papa sliding the knife across his own palm vertically. River shakes uncontrollably even though he tries his hardest to stand still as Papa clasps their hands together.

"Ego ero vobis in patrem, et matrem tuam ducentia sole. Aeris, Aqua, Tellus, Alpha. Congredior Omega." Papa speaks, his voice like honey

Omega. That is his name. Hasn't it always been? He doesn't know anymore. He cannot remember what it was before. His knees give out the second Papa releases him and Omega screams, screams until he cannot anymore, lungs aching and throat raw.

The ghouls gather around him one final time to lay Omega down on the cold floor gently in the center of the pentagram, all of them giving him a stroke on the shoulder before leaving with the sisters of sin.

His body feels cold and numb, incomplete. The coldness scratches at the inside of his ribs, howls like the wind in a storm so loud that his ears ring. If he could move his hands they would be clawing at his chest to try to find any sort of relief. He opens his eyes, can barely discern Papa in his blurry vision.

Papa straddles him, heavy weight settling on Omega's hips. Ungloved hands cup his face, Mitre abandoned now, thumbs stroking his cheekbones and trailing down to press on Omega’s lips.

He’s warm, so warm and Omega aches for the touch and heat. He wants nothing else. Never will.

“My Quintessence, my Aether,” Papa growls, “Beautiful Omega.”  
His hand grasp Omegas throat under his chin possessively, squeezing down just hard enough to cut off his breathing. Papa leans down, presses their lips together harshly in something that's more like an attack than a kiss.

"You’re mine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're someone who don't speak latin (I sure don't) and won't learn it just for fanfiction, here's a translation of what Papa said (roughly)  
> "I shall be your father and mother, your guiding sun. Air, Water, Earth, Alpha. Meet Omega. "  
> I'd also like to thank the people who left kudos on the last chapter. It's nice to know that I'm not wasting my time entirely posting this on here.


	3. Papa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rough, drugged sex in this chapter! If you don't want to see that, don't read this, please.

Cheeks flushed, lungs burning and his entire body is shaking. Papa's hand does not let go, does not let up even the sligthest.

Omega is delirious, terrified and aroused. This vicious touch should make a fight or flight response appear in any sane human being but it doesn't. He is entirely under Papa's control and the older man is making sure that he knows it, that he could just as easily kill him as he could kiss him.

Omega stares up with glassy, unfocused eyes at the man straddling him. Had his arms cooperated with his brain he would be grabbing the silky embroidered material of Papa's robes or touching his lips with his fingers. Anything to distract him from the unfathomable, dizzying eyes that are fixated on his own. The lack of oxygen heightens every sensation, makes his skin tingle and mind even fuzzier. The colors of the room have faded, the yellow light from the candles have become a blurry grey.

Papa releases his hold in order to undress Omega just as the younger man thinks he is going to pass out, the angry red that started at the corners of his eyes now taking up most of his vision. The hands leave burning prints in their wake that almost makes it feel like they never left his throat at all. He sucks in grateful but shallow breaths whilst Papa makes quick work of the sash around his waist before moving on to the cassock, the fabric protesting and tearing at the harsh treatment.

"So pretty for me. Such a good boy, hm?" Papa says appreciatively, taking in the exposed, pale skin in front of him, his voice low and gravelly. The almost sweet praise deepens the blush in Omega's cheeks but the look Papa gives him is far from innocent.

Feather light kisses press against his jawline but it's not _enough._ It does nothing to sate the beasts clawing inside his chest. Omega attempts to lean into the touch and he's rewarded with a harsh bite against the edge of his jaw. Omega chokes out a whimper at the sudden pain but before he can process what happened Papa is kissing him, all sharp teeth and teasing tongue. He tastes like the blood and red wine that the sisters poured into him, only stronger and with a venomous sting to it. It feels like drinking poison and Omega wants more, wants everything Papa can give him. He is left with swollen, spit slick lips that are stained with black and white corpse paint after Papa gives them a final nip and moves away.

A warm tongue touches the skin of his throat and teeth scrape against Omega's pulse point as nails rake down his chest, leaving raised, red welts in their wake. Hands settle on his belt, one toying with the metal tongue and the other moving down to lightly press against Omega's groin. He bucks like a wild thing at the touch despite not being aware of his own hardness before. He has to bite his cheek to keep from letting out another undignified whimper.

And then Papa -- Then he --

He does _nothing_. He sits back, grabs Omega's left wrist in a punishing grip. "How much do you want this, Omega? Will you beg for me?"

Omega could cry out of frustration, feels his eyes water as he struggles to find his voice again. He looks up at Papa through dark, wet eyelashes and sucks in a wheezing breath. Expectant eyes meet his own and if he had any resistance left in him it just left. He's not going to cry, he's going to do whatever Papa wants him to do.

"Please," He pleads shakily, not even sure what he's asking for. "Please, Papa. Please, father, please, please, I need, I _need_ -" He trails off.

"What do you need, child?" Papa asks, voice soft with all the patience in the world. Leaning in to hover his lips just above Omega's, mouths just inches apart. He can feel Papa's erection pressing into his thigh, can feel his warm breath on his lips.

"You." The word comes out just as weak and broken as he feels.

"To think they told me you are disobedient," Papa lets go of his wrist and finally resumes removing Omega's belt. He manhandles the younger man without pausing to consider that it might hurt him, flipping him over to his stomach before pulling down his pants and black boxer briefs. "I'm curious to see..." Two slick fingers press into him, hard, rough and full of promise. "If you can ride my cock as pretty as you can beg." Papa says, sweetness and faux gentleness dropped in mere seconds.

Omega moans, unsure of whether it's because of Papa's words or the sensation of his fingers making him ache in places he didn't know he had before. A hand grabs a fistful of Omega's hair, pulls his head back uncomfortably, the other one still inside of him, stretching him. "Do you want me to hurt you?"

" _Yes_." Omega answers, spilling the truth. He can't do anything else as he tries to grind against the floor to get any sort of relief.

"I'm going to to bury my cock in you and fuck you until you can't tell the difference between the pain and pleasure anymore. Bruise you so that everyone knows who you belong to. Not that I have to," Papa removes his fingers and lets go of Omega's hair, snaking one arm around his throat instead. "Because when you leave this room with my come still inside of you and all over your thighs all of my men are going to smell me all over you." Papa growls, voice impossibly dark into Omega's ear and then he sits back, pulling the younger man with him by the neck so that he's in his lap now, hot and hard erection pressed against his lower back. Papa's other arm wraps around his waist, lifting him up slightly and he finally gives Omega what he's begged for.

He doesn't waste any time teasing, it's hard, fast and painful right from the start as he fills Omega completely with his cock. Omega can't help but let out a howl when Papa is fully seated. It doesn't matter if it's a cry of pain or pleasure, all that matters now is how incredibly tight Omega is around Papa's erection, how amazing those small spasms and convulsions feel.

"Listen to you. So needy and desperate. You're a perfect little slut." Papa murmurs into Omega's ear, tightening the arm around his neck to cut off his air as he thrusts so hard that Omega thinks he's going to tear open by the force.

Omega's brought to orgasm untouched with just a few burning thrusts against his sweet spot, screaming breathlessly. If it weren't for the arms holding him upright he would have fallen forward bonelessly while Papa continues to push inside of him. Omega clenches down on Papa's cock, it's the only thing he can do besides embracing the warm darkness that's starting to envelop him.

Papa buries himself deep inside Omega one last time, letting out filthy curses as he fills him with his seed. He bites down on the cut in Omega's palm and that's the last thing Omega feels before he passes out aching and exhausted.

* * *

 

"Fuck!" Water hisses. "You're lucky I wasn't holding the needle yet, Omega. It would have gone straight through your palm. And probably into your eye in the process too."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be longer but I've been sitting on this for too long. Thank you so, so much for your comments and kudos! You guys are the best.


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